


Nothing's And Something's

by ElfyDwarf



Series: Gallavich Prompts & One Shots [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Frights, Halloween, M/M, Scary situations, Swearing, Sweetness, haunted house au, panic warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfyDwarf/pseuds/ElfyDwarf
Summary: " You work at a haunted house and as I turned the corner you scared me and I'm so very sorry for breaking your nose" AU Saw it. Thought of it. Did it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Something silly for Halloween - rated M because of language and the fear factor, the panicky trigger this carries. If you get easily spooked by things jumping out, then maybe this isn't for you - it's light hearted and daft but still, it's a haunted house and Halloween. Short and sweet, like Mickey! Hahahaha Enjoy :}

_Nothing scares me_. Words had never really haunted Ian but as it was the season to haunt, he was regretting saying the stupid syllables not two hours ago in the kitchen. Lip and Carl had been badgering him about going to a local haunted house, and when he'd flippantly brushed off their jeers of _what, you chicken?_ as well as every other thing they could come up with to make him out to be some sort of wimp, Lip had scoffed at Ian's waved hand as he'd sipped his hot chocolate and stated-

“You gettin' this Carl? Ian's fuckin' _scared_ of a bunch of people in Halloween costumes!”

Ian had then tipped his head and had let a sugar sweet smile work its way onto his face slowly, simply saying the words that were taunting the fuck out of him now. _Nothing scares me_. His brothers had given him quintessential disbelieving looks, folded arms and popped eyebrows and jutted hips and smarmy faces, the whole lot. Ian had shrugged because a haunted house? Really? Child's play is what it was.

As he got stamped on the back of his hand he came the conclusion that no, it fucking well _was not_ child's play. His heart was banging and he was desperately trying to keep the easy, chilled expression on his face so that whenever Lip or Carl glanced back at him, he didn't look bothered, keeping up the bravado. He was shitting himself. He wanted out. The whole place was creepy as hell and dark and they were only in the foyer; even the outside had been done up well enough that the second Ian had seen it, he'd felt every bone in his body set and his skin tingle all over. He'd shaken bodily and passed it off as a reaction to the chilly air because Carl was grinning and excitedly walking faster as Lip dropped their shared cigarette on the ground and had wiggled his brows cheekily at Ian in a daring let's-go-see kind of way that only Lip could mash together.

“Any of you suffer from heart issues or epilepsy or anything along those lines?” The stamper asked as he got Lip. If his outfit was anything to go by, the 'actors' in this building weren't going to scare him, more like the décor would; the freaky cobwebs and spiders were enough but dripping blood and dry ice fog? Ian shivered again and focussed on the very basic Frankenstein look this guy had. One of his bolts had fallen off and left a bare patch of normal skin behind, bright and stark with green around it. His wig was sliding off.

Carl smirked, “Shouldn't you ask that before you stamp us?”

“No, no, we're all good, thanks,” Ian quickly smiled, scowling at Carl's smartass grin when the guy gave the most bored look he could muster and waved them all through a daunting set of doors. Pissed at his kid brother, Ian shoved Carl through without giving a thought as to what the hell could be waiting for them behind the doors and felt his blood run cold at the sound of a deadlock dropping the moment the doors shut behind them. _Nothing scares me_. This wasn't _nothing_.

“Nice!” Carl praised a very gory looking, realistic 'dead' body half submerged in misted, green goop in a bath to their right. The whole room was nasty looking and did nothing to dampen the creeps Ian was getting.

“Disgusting,” Ian commented with a curl of his lip.

Lip snorted and tipped his head to have an overly interested Carl and grossed out Ian follow him. “You mean 'terrifying', right? Chicken shit.”

“Seriously, I'll drown you in the foggy stuff if you keep on. I'm not scared of anythin'!” Ian protested with a hiss, every cautious of where they were going and what might jump out on him. Lip grumbled something and turned into a hallway that looked like something that needed to be quarantined to Ian but Carl didn't think along those lines, trying to touch a hand sticking out of the wall. “Don't-”

Carl screamed and leapt all over the spot he was rooted to by the hand holding tight to his wrist. Ian pasted himself against the wall as Lip came back quickly, Carl shaking the hand loose just as Lip went to grab at it. “Holy shit!” Carl laughed, wary of everything he walked passed as he followed Lip's chuckles. Ian knew his eyes were wide and his face probably a shade or four lighter than it ever was, following quickly.

Four rooms and umpteen frights later found Ian shaking and a nervous wreck as he brought up the rear, always turning and looking everywhere he could plant his sight, ever conscious of where Carl or Lip were in the dark corridor. It was gloomily lit but it was dark enough that Carl's white beanie was hard to keep sight of. Ian whimpered as the light dropped entirely and horrid hissing and groaning come from seemingly everywhere. Rather than speed up to keep his brother's in reach, Ian's feet turned to stone and he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that he saw spots in his mind.

“Not scared,” he kept repeating that to himself as the lights flared up bright enough for him to run after Carl who was just going out of sight at the end of the area.

As Ian ran into the room, Lip screeched and Carl flew backwards, banging Ian into the wall who screamed blue murder at something grabbing his ankles from under a broken toy box to his left. “I fuckin' _hate_ dolls!” Lip yelled, jumping and dodging his way through a very tight baby's room because in the cot in the corner was a young woman made up as a horrific baby porcelain doll, singing rock-a-bye slowly and sweetly, reaching out to touch Lip as he skirted passed quickly. She could reach out and grab him if she wished but kept back, clearly understanding the guy was about to piss himself in fear. Carl walked passed without a care, grinning at her but, as she turned to Ian with a very exorcist-like snap of her head, Ian couldn't move. The hands touching his lower legs were fuck all in comparison. He hated dolls as much as Lip did.

“Oh fuck. Oh God. Oh shit. Oh fuckin' Jesus Christ,” Ian wheezed, trying to keep calm enough to figure out if he could bolt passed her. She kept giving him quizzical ticks of her head and smiling.

“Ian!”

“ _Shit_!” Ian ran and knocked several things over or flying as he crashed through and army rolled passed her crib, screaming as he got to his feet and scrambled to escape, feeling her hands on his shoulders for but a second. As he flew to the right, he was certain he could hear genuine giggles and swallowed. Too dark and too fucking creepy; he needed to get out of here. Where was Lip now? Carl? “Guys?!”

“Left, Ian!” he turned to the left and realised his error; they'd turned left, not right, out of the room. Ian was now in some kind of toy workshop that had beheaded or maimed puppets hanging from the roof, tools, limbs on the floor, half a butchered 'body' being stitched and strung up like a marionette in the corner.

“Fuck me,” Ian breathed, eyes everywhere, heart trying to crawl up and out of his throat to go live elsewhere. He made to double back, walking slowly backwards from the room and turned as he went through the doorway, screaming as his back hit clawed hands and reacted before he could think. His fist hit something hard and soft and he _hoped_ he'd smacked one of his brothers.

“Holy fuck, man,” groaned the darkened, doubled over figure in the dim hall. Not a brother.

“ _Oh_ shit!” Ian rushed, his fears evaporating into concern and guilt instantly as he put a hand on the person's back, “I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to hit you! I just- You scared the fuckin' life outta me and-”

“S'OK, really is,” the guy- damn did he have a nice voice- part chuckled and part hissed, putting a hand up to reassure Ian, or maybe shut him up. “I've had a few hits. Lotta people react that way by the time they get to the 'puppeteer'.”

“Maybe, but I still hit you, and I'm really sorry,” Ian argued lightly as the grotesque stranger straightened to stand. Fucking hell, he looked absolutely terrifying but the softened demeanour was just enough to keep Ian from running for his life. “Is that fake?” Ian asked, pointing to the blood running from the guy's nose and smeared across his grey cheek. Red-lensed eyes blinked at him and the face twisted into a slight grimace. _Keep still_.

“Nah. Only blood I wear is from the chest down,” he sounded stuffy all of a sudden.

Ian's eyes went wide and he felt so utterly sick with guilt that his knees went a bit and he moaned at how bad this was. “I think I've broken your nose. Fuck, I'm sorry, man, so sorry,” Ian said with remorse and still the guy waved him off with a little smirk.

“It's not alright, but it's _alright_... know what I mean?” he said, hauling some teddy stuffing from his dungaree front pouch, ripping it and packing his nose with it as he glanced up at Ian. Ian understood, kind of; it was like cracking a sibling or having one crack him by accident. It hurt, it was bad, but it wasn't intended so it wasn't malicious, simply as it was. So, Ian nodded as the guy gave a flighty gesture with his hand in the air, so fast it was barely seen, “You wanna leave yet? I've gotta go find the boss and get the medi-kit or whatever so I'm headin' for the exit through the staff bits. You can come with me, explain your part, I'll explain mine, no suin' or whatever from either party and you won't get the fuckin' life scared outta your lanky ass again either, y'know, if you come with me. No more broken noses, eh?”

The cheeky wink and fat, packed nose of this guy had Ian deflate into an easy, soft smile as he agreed and followed the puppeteer through lightly lit back halls that were tight in parts, turning this way and that until they emerged in brighter anti-room, eyes adjusting to the light before the guy took Ian through to a bigger room that was lit completely and very normal looking with a desk, bags and coats and paperwork and calendars on walls, coffee brewing and a guy with his earphones in dressed as a zombie, munching a sandwich as he scrolled on a tablet.

“This way, Blair Witch,” the guy rumbled, tugging Ian's sleeve to have him follow through a door.

“What?” Ian asked, amused and curious.

“You screamed like someone off that movie, man, seriously, like somethin' was after you,” Puppet snorted as he strode into the foyer to find his boss, Frankenstein, and Lip and Carl perusing the many CCTV boxes for, presumably, Ian.

“How the fuck did you get so lost, man?” Carl asked, his signature grin on his face, “Heard you screaming like a bitch, though.”

“Wasn't me!”

Puppet chimed in a with a barked laugh of, “Sure it wasn't.”

Carl turned his attention to the guy and gave him a once over, “Nice outfit, man. Blood looks good.”

“It's real,” Puppet said while rummaging behind the desks for a box. His boss frowned and pinched his green nose.

“Another hit?”

The guy bobbed his head as Ian ducked his and put his hand up sheepishly, “I may have hit him in panic and I may have broken his nose.”

“Fuck sake,” Boss man sighed and looked about five seconds from giving up entirely.

“Seriously?” Lip chuckled, hefting out his smokes as Ian nodded and Carl went to touch the Puppet's gnarly looking butchers belt. Lip smacked his hand. “C'mon, kid. Out. Ian, we'll be outside.”

“You think it's busted Mick?” the boss asked as Ian tucked his chin into his collar and his hands deep into his pockets.

“Nah,” Mickey answered, removing stuffing from his nose and inspecting the damage with timid fingers. “Had a busted nose a few times...” he looked over at Ian and smiled softly, “S'all good, Blair, just a real hard hit. You can stop lookin' so fuckin' guilty about it now.”

Ian bobbed his head and waited while the two men chatted about breaks and pay for the night and soon found himself waving his brothers home as he took an offered cigarette from Mickey outside, the guy looking curious about everything as Ian lit up.

“You sure you're OK?” Ian had to ask.

Mickey scoffed, rolled his eyes and promptly swore like a sailor, “Yes. Shit, forgot I- damn contacts!”

“Anything I can do?”

“Hold this!” Mickey grumbled, bending over but shoving his hand out with his cigarette perfectly erect between thumb and index finger. Ian took it and watched nervously as Mickey wrestled with his face, concerned when a groan leaked out of the guy. Mickey stood soon though, blinking rapidly and titling his head up as he let out a gush of relief in a ball of vapour into the cold night. “Fuck, that feels so good,” Mickey smiled, his voice lilting with it, turning his face down to catch Ian's eye. Ian, dumbstruck by the sheer vividness of the blue of Mickey's eyes in the slate-sheen of the night, offered the smoking stick back on autopilot.

“Jesus,” Ian slipped out.

Mickey grinned and jiggled with the force of the sass he let out as, “ _Mickey_ , actually, but you _could_ call me that sometime, Blair.”

“Ian.”

“Ian? Like that,” Mickey blew his smoke out into the quiet for a second, smiling to himself. “Seems we need to get acquainted better, huh?”

Ian didn't miss the wink and for the third time that night, a sweet, soft smile drifted across his face until he was fucking certain he looked smitten and daft. “Seems so,” he agreed, turning to smoke his smiles into the night with Mickey rubbing his own chin at his side. “Still, I'm so sorry I hit you-”

Mickey's brows shot up and threatened to destroy the caked on face paint of his forehead, “Jesus Christ.”

Ian snorted and didn't miss a beat. “Ian, actually, _but_ you could-” he broke off laughing as he was hip checked a foot or so to his right, not missing the fond curses or the bright twinkle Mickey's eyes were gifted as a set of lights caught his face as a car turned near by. He was glad nothing scared him because _something's_ were entirely different when they popped out of the dark, looking like they wanted to maim him in bloodied dungaree's.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!! :}


End file.
